Tom

The sun was beginning to rise, the sky turning pink and orange. The fog clouds above were clearing, revealing the chaos of London: abandoned houses, wrecked shops with little food left. Destruction everywhere, corpses, and wandering dead, growling eerily, searching for something living to eat...

Thomas woke up, slowly opening his eyes. He and Tord had been staying in the same place for a couple of days now – a semi-abandoned building on the very edge of London. It was quiet, no one was around, and almost no walking dead. Tom was wearing his favorite blue sweatshirt, a black turtleneck underneath, and a black leather jacket over it – it was very September, after all. All his clothes were already quite worn, torn in places, stained with blood and dirt. But in the apocalypse, it wasn't all that scary, since it was hard to find an alternative anyway.

Thomas sat up on the mattress, yawning, his gaze drifting to Tord, who lay next to him, covered with a torn blanket.

"Wake up," Ridgewell muttered, patting Tord on the head. Even before the apocalypse, there had been some animosity between the two men, but there had also been some affection. And now, with only them left, they had grown closer, entering a romantic relationship of sorts.